


Run Away With Me Any Time You Want

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Run Away With Me Any Time You Want

The cars going the other way are a blur of headlights, streaking together like science fiction, like they're going to lightspeed. If Mikey bumps his glasses up to where they belong on his nose, it all comes into focus again, but the blurry mess is more fun. Like Midtown's shitty van is the Millennium Falcon.

Han Solo didn't spend as much time scanning endlessly through radio stations as Gabe does, though. "Springsteen again," he says gleefully. "Take a shot, Mikey."

"They're not shots," Mikey says, bringing the flask to his mouth. "Just drinks." He closes his eyes and swallows, licking the drops from the metal lip. "And you're just jealous."

"You're drinking cherry vodka and Sprite. I'm definitely not jealous about not getting to choke down shit that tastes like straight cough syrup."

"Yeah, but you're jealous that I'm drunk and you're not."

"I don't think you get how being Edge works, Way."

"I really, really don't." He starts to screw the cap back on the flask, then stops as Gabe hits the scan button again. "Gabe...oh, come on, can't we get a moratorium on fuckin' 'Born to Run'?"

"Take it up with Jersey radio, not with me. Drink."

Mikey takes another drink and shudders a little. "I'm gonna run out soon and then what are we going to do?"

"We'll be at the beach and I'll get you some beer, gorgeous."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Saporta."

"But the beer will."

Mikey can't argue with that. He slumps against the door and closes his eyes. His head pulses with the music now that Gabe's let it stop on something with a throbbing bass, and the vodka swirls in his blood. It feels good, almost as good as the fact that right now, no one except Gabe knows or cares where he is.

**

He hadn't started the night planning to go on a road trip with Gabe. He hadn't been thinking about Gabe at all; he was just going out to a show.

The band sucked, and Mikey stopped paying attention to them about halfway through, shifting his attention to the more important matters of seeing and being seen, and getting wasted. On that scale, it was a pretty good show.

He stumbled back to the bathroom while the band was doing their encore, wiping the sweat off his forehead onto his sleeve and trying not to fuck up his hair. He'd walked in on a lot of things in club bathrooms, but it was still a surprise to open the door and almost bump into Gabe standing at the counter with a girl's legs around his shoulders and his face buried between her thighs.

Her head was thumping back against the mirror, and she was gasping something in Russian that Mikey hoped was complimentary, based on how Gabe was laughing against her. She grabbed his hair and pushed him down again, saying something sharper and more demanding, and Mikey watched how Gabe's hands tightened on her legs, his fingers sliding over the pale skin in a promising caress.

Mikey was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be standing there watching them, but he was drunk and it was pretty. Plus he still had to piss and Gabe was between him and the urinals.

The girl relaxed back against the mirror and brushed a lock of sweaty hair back off her forehead, then pushed at Gabe's shoulder. He moved back from her, wiping his mouth and grinning. "I told you you'd have fun if you came out to the show with me."

She rolled her eyes and sat up, pushing her skirt down over her thighs and reaching for her purse, stopping when she saw Mikey and staring coolly at him. "The fuck are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Mikey said, his voice thick and blurred around the edges. "Hey, Gabe."

"Mikey motherfuckin' Way. Life of the party." Gabe came over and wrapped him up in one of his too-tight, too-long hugs, and Mikey leaned into it, grateful for the help in staying upright. "Good to see you, man. This is Galina."

"Hi," Mikey said, waving vaguely. Galina ignored him and lit a cigarette. "This show sucks, dude."

"Tell me about it. You want to come hang out at my place?"

Mikey isn't sure where they veered off-course between him saying yes and the two of them ending up in a van without Galina and headed for the shore, but that's where he's found himself now, and the best he can do is roll with it.

**

Mikey wakes up lying on the middle seat of the van, his jacket over his face and his mouth tasting like cherry syrup cut with death. It's so hot he can hardly breathe.

He sits up and scrubs at his eyes, digging his knuckles in until all he can see is white light and then blinking until that clears away into dull midday haze, the inside of the van, and no sign of Gabe.

"That just fucking figures," he mutters, dragging his fingers through the stiff, sticky mess of his hair. Gabe drove him to the shore and abandoned him while he was unconscious. He actually knows two other guys who have stories that start that way.

He reaches for his phone, then stops and frowns as the motion bares his forearm. There's writing up the length from his wrist to his elbow, careful block print done in fucking permanent marker. He's going to kill Gabe.

 _went to get food. don't go anywhere. xoxo_

Mikey slides off the seat and walks on his knees up to the front, where he can squint into the rearview mirror and make sure Gabe didn't draw on his face, too. That's just the kind of shit sober assholes pull because they can.

This time, though, Gabe apparently resisted the temptation. Mikey cranks the passenger-side window down and hangs his head outside, breathing in stale air that smells like hot asphalt and piss, overlaid with fish and salt. The idea of clean ocean air is a goddamn myth in New Jersey.

"Hey, you're awake." It's Gabe's voice, and the object shoved under Mikey's nose is a grease-stained bag from a boardwalk food stand instead of a police officer's badge, so he doesn't bother looking up. "Awesome. I got you a funnel cake."

Mikey lifts his head just a little. "A funnel cake?"

"Yeah, one of the stands starts up early. Catch the late-breakfast, early-lunch crowd."

"The brunch crowd, then?"

"Suck my dick, Mikey. Do you want this or not?"

"I need something to drink first." He spits on the asphalt and makes a face. "My mouth tastes like something died."

"I got lemonade. Come on. Let me tend to your hungover ass."

Mikey obediently sits up and turns in the seat to face back into the body of the van. Gabe climbs in and sits on the center bench seat, patting the cushion next to him. "Come on, dude. I'll pet your hair."

"Are you fucking kidding me with this," Mikey mumbles, but he goes, arranging himself beside Gabe and leaning against his shoulder. Gabe holds up the funnel cake and Mikey takes a bite, closing his eyes as the grease and sugar dissolve on his tongue. "Fuck."

"Use of bad language is a sign of a weak mind, Mikey."

"Don't talk to me until I finish this." Gabe laughs and Mikey sits up, taking the lemonade and the funnel cake and huddling over them protectively. "I hate you."

"Whatever, man." Gabe drinks his own lemonade and hums to himself, looking out the window while Mikey eats. Mikey recognizes bits and pieces of songs-in-progress, things he's heard Gabe working on when he hangs out at Midtown's practice space.

"So," he says when he finishes. "Where are we, anyway?"

"The shore." Mikey throws his cup at Gabe's head. "What? That's the important part. Quit whining and let's get out there and get some sun."

**

Mikey isn't the world's biggest fan of the sun, but arguing with Gabe is an exercise in futility. They walk down to the beach with a blanket of questionable cleanliness that Gabe pulled out from under the back seat, strip off their shirts, and stretch out.

Mikey lies face-down, hiding his eyes from the light. "What happened to your girlfriend?"

"Who?"

"Galina. She's...not here."

"Oh. She got a call with a better offer." Mikey feels Gabe's arm land across his shoulder blades, skin sticking to skin. "And she's not my girlfriend, just, like, this girl I know."

Mikey hides a smile against the blanket. "You totally want to marry her and make babies."

"Shut up."

"You want to marry and make babies with all of the girls you date."

"I do not."

"You do too. And you've got such a _type_."

"I do not!"

"Gabe." Mikey rolls over and looks at him. "Tiny, legs to there, kind of evil. You totally have a type."

Gabe scowls at him and scoots away to the far edge of the blanket. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

Mikey smiles and lies back, crossing his forearm over his eyes.

**

They lay on the beach for an hour or two, until they're both slow and mellow and slick with sweat. Gabe goes down to the water and Mikey stays behind, resting his chin on his knees and squinting against the glare off the waves as Gabe leans into them and gets thrown back to shore.

"You should've come with me." Gabe shakes his head, flinging water in all directions. Mikey curls in on himself to protect his glasses. "It's awesome."

"Sharks," Mikey says flatly, and Gabe laughs.

"Never change, Mikey."

"Everything changes."

"Oh, please tell me we're going to get existential." Gabe takes Mikey's hand and pulls him to his feet. "Nothing I like more."

"Not existential, just..." Mikey sighs and shrugs as they cut across the sand toward the boardwalk. "I mean, I want to change. I want everything to change. I want the band to take off, I want..." He shakes his head and dodges away from Gabe's touch. "I don't know. Whatever, right?"

"Dude." Gabe sounds serious enough that Mikey glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "I know what you mean. You don't have to brush it off."

Mikey doesn't answer, but he lets himself drift back toward Gabe again as they walk.

The boardwalk is full now, and Mikey bumps against Gabe again and again as they cut through the crowd. "There is nothing here I can eat except cotton candy and popcorn," Gabe says. "I'm going to make the most of that."

"And I'm going to get a hot dog. Everyone goes home happy."

"You disgust me," Gabe says sincerely.

"And I pity you." Mikey slaps him on the back and turns away. "Meet you back here in five."

There's music playing on the boardwalk, a constant stream of stupid pop and rock intended to hit right at the base of the brain, wire right into the feel-good centers and get a smile without working for it. Usually Mikey hates that shit. But there's something about being at the shore that turns him into a kid again, uncritical and uncomplicated, and he's actually singing along with Bon Jovi while he walks back to Gabe.

Gabe laughs out loud and slings an arm over Mikey's shoulder, steering him back toward the beach again. "You know what I love about this, Mikey?"

"Girls in bikinis."

"No. Well. Yeah. But...this is like, a physical manifestation of innocence. This whole day. This whole scene." He waves his free hand, encompassing everything around them. "And the goddamn songs. It's like...it's pure, being here." He glances at Mikey and smiles, wide and sweet. Mikey can't quite look away. "I don't know, man, I just love it."

Mikey shakes his head and walks a little faster, but he's smiling. "Save it for your lyrics, Saporta."

"Bite me."

"Maybe let Rob revise them first."

"Blow me."

A kid walking past them with cotton candy in both hands shoots Gabe a wide-eyed, startled look. Mikey can't stop laughing the rest of the way to the water.

**

They spend the rest of the day on the beach, walking back up to the boardwalk only when they feel lightheaded and stupid with the heat and have to get some liquids in their bodies before they crash into the sand. Gabe goes into the water a few more times, and Mikey stakes out a spot in the shadow of the pier. He picks up a six-pack on one of their trips and sets the bottles upright in the sand, lining them up straight and perfect.

The last time Gabe comes back up from the water, he's shivering, and Mikey hands him the blanket as soon as he finishes scraping the water off his body with his hands. "The sun's going down already," Gabe says. "What the fuck is that about?"

"Rotation of the earth."

"I hate you even more than I did this morning." Gabe sits down next to him, huddled in the blanket, and Mikey takes a slow sip of warm beer. "Let's stay here tonight."

"Right here?"

"Yeah."

"I think they arrest you for sleeping on the beach."

"You hate fun and I hate you."

Mikey sighs and leans back, rolling the neck of the bottle between his fingers. "We hit the road again next week, you know."

"Yeah? Where are you going?"

"Down the coast. Just a couple weeks."

Gabe nods and lifts his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against it. "We head out in three weeks. The Midwest. Should be pretty good."

"And then when we get back, it's like...I've gotta go back to work, you know?" He leans against Gabe a little, closing his eyes when Gabe leans back. "So no more beach days, I guess."

"Of course not."

Mikey felt his brow furrow. "What?"

"This is the end of our innocence, Mikey. We're giving that all up to go out there into the big bad world. Commercialize our art. Commodify ourselves for the masses." Gabe gestures with his free hand, sketching something in the air. "And once we break through, we can never go home again."

Mikey sits still for a minute. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know." Gabe sighs and rests his head on Mikey's shoulder. "I get kinda moody this time of day."

"Well, stop it. Jesus Christ."

"I don't mean to."

"Why can't you think of it as something good? We're going to change lives. We're going to live forever. We're going to...to...make music and have adventures and get laid in a wide variety of states. Fuck, Gabe. Don't ruin it."

"I can't ruin something that hasn't happened yet."

"Well, stop it anyway."

Gabe laughs, a soft little huff of sound. "Okay, Mikeyway." He kisses Mikey's cheek, soft and quick. "No more sad songs."

Mikey turns his head and kisses Gabe for real, slower, and closes his eyes. "I'd rather hear the fuckin' Springsteen."

**

They fall asleep in the sand, until the cops wake them up around midnight. "Go home, boys," are the instructions, and Mikey doesn't bother to explain that actually they'll probably just try to get the van to the nearest empty parking lot and crash there for the night. Better not to argue with the nice policemen, since he's not drunk enough to be impressively belligerent, only sadly so.

It's not until they get back to the van that Gabe makes a soft, startled noise and pulls his phone from his pocket. "Oh," he says, staring down at the screen. "Apparently I haven't had service all day. I've got, like, sixteen missed calls."

Mikey fishes his own phone out. "Twenty-nine."

"Shit."

Mikey nods and skims the list of names, mentally writing off all of them as unimportant. Gabe has his phone to his ear and is frowning off into the dark. "Well," he says after a minute. "Nine messages from Rob."

"What does he want?"

"Apparently his dad was going to use the van today." Gabe shrugs and shoves his phone back in his pocket. "How the hell was I supposed to know that, right?"

Mikey nods slowly. "Seriously. That's some bullshit."

"Total bullshit." They stand there for a minute, looking at the van and the sky and the headlights moving slowly west toward the Parkway.

"I bet between us we could swing a hotel," Gabe says finally.

"Or we could just keep driving."

"Don't tempt me, man." Gabe grins and gets into the van. "I've still got a little innocence left, here."  



End file.
